No Eye Can See by Jane Kirkpatrick
She must try to find some…joy in the shifting. She could replace disappointment with… discovering the sounds of the morning wind in the trees outside her windows, or smelling sun-dried, heat-pressed linens when she slept at night. There'd be pleasure in setting the few things she'd salvaged in prominent places: the hand-painted seed gourd filled with gift seeds, shell buttons made at the Cassville factory, the novel pin with a latch so she could safely hold the buttons to her wrapper, Jeremy's reading glasses, his Ayrshire book, cuttings of lilacs and the maple tree, some daffodil bulbs. She was grateful for them, perhaps more than she ever would have been without the trials of this journey. She would remember that. It might bring her comfort in her new home.
Suzanne's heart pounded, angry now that Tipton left her. Suzanne had bumbled into the tenpin alley, backed away from the smells of whisky and smoke, got turned around, lost count of the steps back to the street. She gripped Claytons hand so hard he cried. Pig barked and yanked, and she hadn't a clue where she stood. If she could just convert this feeling of fear, she could take the next step. Focus. New things always carried a little fear with them. Focus, trust, step out, and do her best in this new setting. She took in a deep breath. “Pig. Forward.”
Her voice must have sounded firm because the dog walked a step, halted, walked another, in that way he had of letting her stay beside him. When he stopped, she felt with her foot, found the stair and kicked her skirt out to step up, not letting go of either Pig or Clayton. She could either start walking back to the camp or—
“Can I help you, ma'am?” A woman's voice, spoken as Suzanne scanned the width of the step with her foot. “Not that it looks like you need much.”
Suzanne turned her body toward the scent of tobacco mixed with something sweet at her right side. “I'm…looking for a land agent,” Suzanne decided right then.
“That could be most anyone in these parts,” the woman said. “Making a gold claim, are you? Buying a saloon? A house? What?”
“Just seeking a place to live,” she said. “For me and my boys.” A pistol fired in the background. Suzanne startled.
“That happens often. Nothing to worry over. You're not alone, are you? A woman like you shouldn't—”
“Can you direct me or not?”
A hesitation, then, “Sure. I think George King has a place to let. He owns the bookstore. But there's a land office on, well, you take a right at the end of—oh, never mind. Ill just walk you that way… if you don't mind.”
“I don't mind,” Suzanne said, her voice softened. “Thank you.”
“My name's Estella,” the woman said, patting Suzanne's hand at Pig's halter. “Friends call me Esty. There's a nice cabin. A doctor left it and headed home. If no one's taken it, you and your children would fit. If there's no mister.”
“No mister. I'm Suzanne Cullver,” she said. “These are my boys, Clayton and Sason. The dogs name is Pig.”
“Clunky kind of dog, isn't he?” Esty said, but her voice was gentle and low. Suzanne felt Pig's wagging tail move his whole body, and she imagined Esty patting his head.
For a moment, Suzanne wondered if she should try to find Tipton. No, she could do this on her own with a newly found acquaintance. Isn't that what happened in a new place? Find a new home. Make friends. Learn to do things differently. Stretch a bit? She could surely do that on her own.
9
Shasta City
Esty opened the door to the land agent's office. “Good,” she said. “You're here early. Got a new acquaintance for you. Mrs. Cullver.”
“Esty, not—”
“She's seeking housing. Nothing else.”
The man's demeanor changed. “Then we can be of service.”
“I'll leave you now,” Esty said. “You'll be all right.”
“Thank you.” Suzanne reached her hand out to touch the woman, felt the ruffle at her sleeve. She had smooth hands, so someone else must have done her laundry, Suzanne thought. “I hope you'll come visit me when I have my home.”
“Yeah…sure,” Esty said.
“How will I find you? Your last name—?”
“The agent here can put us in touch. If you decide you want to be. Nice meeting you,” she said, then the sweet smell disappeared.
So much of what people meant wasn't said in words, but in the look of their eyes, the placement of their hands, how they stood or lifted their chins. Suzanne wondered what she'd missed in this encounter. The photographer's eye had once captured all in the flash of the powder. Now she had only words and cadence and an occasional scent to tell her what was really being said.
“What did you and your husband have in mind…Mrs. Cullver, was it?”
“Its just me and my children,” she said, turning to his voice. “I want a home. It doesn't need to be large, but it must have an area that's fenced, or can be. If it has some furnishings, that would be good too. I don't have much. Just came across on Noble's Cutoff.”
“Without a husband? My dear woman—”
She held her hand up as though to stop him.
“Well…there's one that might work. It's up the street, kind of a steep little path to it. But the view is stupendous.”
“I'm not much taken with scenery,” Suzanne said.
He cleared his throat. “It's the fence I thought of. It has ironwork all around it. Built by a doctor in ‘fifty. Only stayed a year there. His wife passed on and he left. Buried her right on the spot. I hope that won't distress you, a grave on the site. Now we have cemeteries set aside. Several.” Suzanne shook her head. “Good. Seems she'd always wanted a large family, and they'd planned to fence it when the children came, to make a play place for them. They never had a one. He had the fence made anyway. Offered some healing for him, I suppose. Shortly after the gate was placed, he headed back to Massachusetts.”
“Someone who grieved owned the house? I suspect it'll suit us just fine.”
They looked like a bouquet of flowers, Seth decided. He might just miss their daily fragrances. Especially as they stood now, all decked out in their Sunday best for this foray into town. Even Ruth had donned a dress. Must have troubled her some to do that. She still stood off to the side, talking with her horses more than the women.
He'd picked a good spot for them to camp. He thought they called the place Poverty Flat, though he wasn't sure why. Looked to him to be an abundant place, creek water and grass here was tall as a tiger's tummy. Grass looked fed from some underground source of water. Beyond rolled out the Sacramento River, making a big bend east before it headed south. Low hills surrounded this bowl, and he noticed a couple of pack strings had come in already this morning, with forty or fifty head of mules mingling now and small campfires dotting the edges of the meadow. It was where Nobles first train had camped, then headed on in to Shasta City, some five miles down the trail.
He turned back to the women's camp. Everyone present and accounted for, except for Tipton and Suzanne. Funny. A later start than he'd planned for them, but they'd taken longer at their morning toilets. And it showed, all the colorful clothes he hadn't seen any wear before.
“Truth be known, I don't think we should just leave our wagons here, untended.” Adora marched up beside him, talked as though she was sure when she did that everyone would listen.
Adora wore a bonnet with an ostrich feather held up by the stiff brim. Portions of the plume draped down. “I see others have come around and camped. We should post a guard, now that we're back in civilization.”
Seth tipped his tall hat to her. “Figured I'd do just that myself, ma'am.”
“Won't we need someone telling us about the town? I'm sure Tipton was hoping to walk on your arm this fine day. The Celestials might like to stay back.”
“Suspect they're as interested in town as you. Fact is, they ought not be left alone,” Seth told her. “Sometimes Asians get mistaken for Indians. Laws here don't favor either much. Wouldn't want anything foul to happen to them.”
“Oh? And how is—?”
“Tipton?” Adora said, sweeping around, the ostrich feather fluttering in front of Mazy's face. “She slept in Lura's tent last evening. The two girls—she and Mariah—wanted some time, I thought. Isn't she there? Her good green dress isn't in the trunk.”
Mazy shook her head. “She's probably just gone for a walk with Suzanne. And the boys.”
“That woman has got to come to terms with her problems,” Adora said. “She can't expect to be dragging my girl around—or others either—to be looking after her kin. People need to stand on their own two feet.”
“Suspect that's her intent,” Seth offered. He bent to his saddle pack that served as his night pillow and took out a telescoping glass. “I'll scan the meadow, see if I can find them. Don't see Pig anywhere either.”
“The rest of us are ready. We shouldn't have to wait on Suzanne,” Adora said.
“I thought we'd take one wagon on in, so Mei-Ling doesn't have to walk too far. Suzanne could ride, too, but…aren't you coming with us?” Mazy asked Seth.
“Not me,” Seth said, the glass still to his eye.
“Nor I,” Adora said, “at least not without Tipton. Suzanne needs to understand that what she does affects the rest of us, to detriment, I might add. I will simply wait here for her. Remind that woman of her obligations.”
Seth lowered the glass. Adora could be as annoying as seagulls bickering over fish. Maybe this separating had its high side. “Can't have it both ways, Mrs. Wilson. Either she recognizes she's blind and sets her life to live the best she can, or she recognizes she's blind and waits around to be told what the rest of you think she should do.”
“Well…I…”
“You go on ahead,” Seth said. “When I find them, I'll send Tipton and Suzanne to catch up, put ‘em on your mules if need be. You ladies stop at the St. Charles Hotel now. Make plans for that party Sarah's been wanting. Only got two days and this social club will be splitting up.” It might be none too soon.
Mazy scanned the horizon, taking in the landscape. It felt so unsettled to be here. Would this be a view she would have every day for the rest of her life? Would this land of morning cold and drizzle which had turned now to a clear sky and a drying breeze become familiar someday? Oak trees, smaller than those back in Wisconsin, dotted the sides of the trail. She could see a good distance beneath the leaves—that looked glossier than those at home too. No heavy underbrush, just yellowed grasses that darkened near the earth, still wet from the morning drizzle. Black birds, lots of birds. And behind the oaks, rising like a dark mountain, stood tall trees, dusted at the top in white. Would her home be up the side of one of those? The wagon eased slowly down through a gully—a gulch, Seth said they called them here, the lower ends of narrow valleys where farther back in the steep hillsides, streams in the winter and spring ran fast and full of gold.
Their wagon lumbered back up and around the base of a butte. Little strings of smoke drifted across the lower ridges, and Mazy suspected that every steep, narrow gulch housed miners and streams and dreams. Would one of them hold her new dream? Would she eventually have a dream in this California place? She had to remember: She wasn't where she would someday be—at home. And she wasn't where she'd once been—at home. She was in between, and that could be unsettling, make a person want to stop if not turn back. But there was no turning back. The discomfort was just part of the journey toward making strange things familiar. She took a deep breath.
A number of dry creek beds challenged their way. Some with slender threads; others looking as though they had flowed once, but now ran empty. She must remember to ask Seth about that, about what happened to the water. And what were the names of those yellow flowers, and that leggy bush with red berries—manzanita, that was what Seth had called it near Lassens Peak.
She and her mother walked on either side of their oxen, and she could hear the chatter of the women behind the canvas. Had they ever all been together in one wagon like this? Well, they were missing a couple, but even Ruth was inside, as though wearing a dress divided her from her horses, sent her to the same place as the women. She wondered why Ruth had done that, worn a dress after all this time. She'd have to ask her.
Mazy heard a burst of laughter. “What's going on in there? Speak up. We slaves cant hear you out here.” She looked over at her mother and smiled.
Lura stuck her head out. “Just telling stories,” she said. She'd laughed so hard she was wiping her eyes.
“Ruths practicing sitting with her knees together,” Mariah said, poking her head beneath Lura's.
“And Adora just told about Suzanne's diapering Clayton one day with a lace doily. Grabbed the wrong thing, she did, and you can guess what mustard-colored treasure squeezed out through those little eyeholes of Belgian lace. Set a whole new fashion.”
“California style,” Elizabeth said.
“Just one more reason she needs us, that woman,” Lura said as she pulled herself back inside behind the canvas.
“Maybe as much as we all need her,” Mazy said.
Jason then Ned leaped down, jumping far out from the wagon wheels. They ran out ahead. Walking backward, Ned lifted his tin whistle to his lips and played a tune. Mazy smiled and waved at him. Jason soon followed and skipped beside him. A pack string of mules worked their way up behind them, and Mazy directed the oxen to the side to let them pass. Farther on, a string moved toward them, carrying out gold, if what Seth said was true. The packers looked tan or maybe they were Spanish, but she heard another language, Portuguese? And she saw some children—Indian children, she guessed, with dark brown eyes that peered out from behind a tree above them on a butte. Soon she spied Chinese men, bent forward, their long braids black against blue tunics. She could smell new smells, of cooking and things she did not know, and she knew the town must be just around the bend. More riders appeared from nowhere, it seemed. Men tipped their hats, looked twice at seeing two women walking the oxen, not seeing any man at all. Most smiled.
Beyond Ned, Mazy thought she saw a dog, yes, Pig, and with him Suzanne and Tipton and the boys. Coming from town? That was a surprise. She heard laughter again, caught her mothers gentle smile, and pointed beyond the boys to where Tipton now waved.
Mazy felt the sun warm against her face and then she knew, she just knew—this moment would be a part of her forever. These women would be a part of a story she would tell throughout her life, a story of strength and flexibility, of fear and familiarity. They were but small pieces in this puzzle of life, this dance of coming and going, saying good-bye and starting over, but they were as precious to her as gold. They were part of each other, with all their aches and itches, all their hopes and wishes, all their mistakes and poor decisions. They were still connected—even these kind strangers whom she might never see again, these children staring, men smiling and moving past them. They were like some huge family, all brothers and sisters and children of God. A family that knew no beginning and no boundaries. And she belonged.
Her eyes watered, and she wiped at them with her fingers.
“Something wrong?” her mother asked.
“Nothing,” Mazy said, tears wet on her cheeks. “Not a thing. I just feel… happy. It probably wont last, but I'll savor it just the same.” And she breathed a prayer of gratitude for her arrival at this pleasant place.
On the Red Bluff Trail
“Faster than usual,” the portly man commented, straightening his hat and helping his wife sit back up straight. Zane tried not to notice. Instead, he allowed himself to enjoy this ride. The stage took him closer to Ruth. The girl sitting as luggage was merely an added tease. The jostling pressed these strangers against him. He deliberately did not brush himself off after they touched him. He didn't want them remembering him as rude, didn't want them remembering him at all.
Outside, he heard the jehu call out, the crack of the whip. He felt the horses move faster, then slow as they made their way around an outside turn.
“Does the jehu know how to drive this road?” the woman asked.
The passengers bounced, and Zane hit his head, his hat knocked askew.
“Are you all right, my dear?” the portly man asked.
“Yes, Gabriel, I'm quite fine,” the woman said, brushing at her skirts as the stage slowed for another corner.
“Perhaps you should sit on this side,” the man with a cane offered. “I could take your place. Mr. Randolph, was it? Would you be willing to exchange with the woman's companion? It would give them both more room.”
The stage slowed, hit another rock, pitching them again. They straightened.
“Not necessary,” the portly man said, clearing his voice. “Is it, my dear?”
“No. But you're very kind to suggest it,” she said.
“Prepare for another cornering,” the portly man said as they braced themselves with the pitch and roll of the stage. It slowed.
“The road must be frightfully narrow here,” the cane man said. “He nearly stopped.”
Zane looked out his window opening in order to shout up to the driver, but suddenly the stage lurched forward and pitched the passengers once again.
“Oh,” the woman said. Her eyes focused on something outside as the horses moved faster than they yet had.
“What is it, dear?”
She turned back to her husband, stared, her mouth slightly open. She cast a furtive glance at Zane. “Nothing,” she said in a way that made Zane think she lied.
David had told her when to jump. Or had he? Could he claim with a clean conscience that he had no idea she would do what she did? No.